


Comes a Pirate

by Kirsten



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-06
Updated: 2003-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:47:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirsten/pseuds/Kirsten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Port Royal was a rattery, Bill thought to himself, full of rat holes hidden down rat-filled alleys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comes a Pirate

Port Royal was a rattery, Bill thought to himself, full of rat holes hidden down rat-filled alleys. The _Sign of the Mermaid_ was the biggest rat hole of all, if the crowd pushing at the bar were any kind of sign. Whores and pirates and low down sailors, drunk on rum and the prospect of sleaze. Bill didn't like the _Mermaid_ all that much, but he was more likely to run into a seeking captain here than at the _Catt and Fiddle_ up by the fort, or anywhere else, for that matter.

He pushed his way to the bar with his elbows and shoulders, ignoring the stench of sour ale and sweat, and the whore who sidled up to him and put her hand on his crotch. She had full red lips and pink cheeks, and blonde hair piled high on her head.

She put her lips to his ear and whispered, teasing him with her breath. "Do I tickle your fancy, love?"

No doubt loosening that hair and pressing those lips to his cock would prove an interesting diversion, if he weren't married to a good woman who would instantly sense his betrayal if he ever succumbed to the dubious charms of a whore. "Married, pet," he said, and had to laugh as she immediately let go of him and flounced away.

The barman carried a club in one hand and a bottle in the other. "Rum, is it?" he demanded as soon as Bill leaned in to request his poison. Bill nodded, and the barman thrust the bottle into his hand. "Sixpence."

Bill rummaged in his pockets, and came up empty. "Er –" he said, and jumped when the barman slammed the club down in front of him, a mere whisker away from his arm.

"Cough up," snarled the barman. "Or I'll knock your 'ead clean off your neck."

Bill held up a pacifying hand. "Now, listen –"

"Sixpence. Now."

Bill considered snatching the rum and making a dash for it, but his wife would know if he committed an infraction against her morals. He was a reformed character, he told himself firmly, and opened his mouth to tell the barman where to shove his over-priced pig piss rum. He jumped again as an arm draped about his shoulders.

"'E's with me," said the owner of the arm. "Let this one slide, eh, King? For an old friend?"

The barman growled. "Piss off, Sparrow, and take that stray with you."

Bill looked around at the owner of the arm – Sparrow, apparently – and saw a man with wild hair and black eyes. Sparrow unhooked his arm and pressed both hands together in thanks. "Come on, mate," he said, nudging Bill. "Time we were going. Don't forget the rum."

"And don't you be coming back 'ere for any more drink," said the barman furiously. "Or I'll beat those gold teeth out of your mouth with my bare hands."

"Couldn't if you tried," said Sparrow, and gave him the two-fingered salute. The barman hurled a tankard at him and rum went everywhere; Sparrow grasped Bill's wrist and ducked and ran as fast as possible for the door, barging through drunken old men away from the enraged barman and laughing the whole while.

It was quiet outside, hot and humid and still. Likely a storm was brewing. Sparrow led him down dark alleys, twisting and turning until Bill had no idea which part of town they were running through. Sparrow couldn't seem to stop giggling, and that was annoying, and the firm grip on his wrist was doubly so. Bill tugged once or twice, but Sparrow's grip was firm and strong, and after a while Bill gave up and just followed. It seemed the best thing to do.

"Do you know where you're going?" he asked, when Sparrow finally slowed down to a trot.

"'Course I do!" said Sparrow. "Prime spot just over that ridge. Perfect for imbibing under the stars. Give us a chance to get to know each other, eh?" He leered terribly, wicked laughter still in his eyes.

Bill gave up. Again. Sparrow saw it and nodded happily, and continued on up the hill. Bill couldn't help noticing the jingle as they walked – Sparrow's hair was truly outrageous, long and braided at the back, a couple of bells woven into the mess. A long bone protruded out from under his hat. It looked very sharp, and Bill wondered where it came from.

It was a steep hill, and they were well away from the centre of the settlement, the road growing rougher all the while. It was hard going in the dark, loose rocks crumbling under his feet to throw his rhythm. Sparrow's pace didn't slacken, and Bill found himself gasping for breath. "Slow down."

"Nah, mate," said Sparrow, tugging on his hand. "It's worth it. Promise."

It was. Sparrow fetched them up on a ridge above the prison, overlooking the harbour. Port Royal looked tiny, a little cub town nestled between its mother's mountainous paws, and the firelight of its taverns and homes glittered in the night. Bill smiled to himself and wished he were a painter. The scene would make a pretty picture for his wife.

"Look up," Sparrow said reverently.

Bill did, and saw the stars. He nodded his appreciation. "Almost as good as at sea."

Sparrow hummed in agreement, staring at the sky with his head tilted so far back his shoulders began to lean backwards. Bill caught hold of Sparrow's shirt just before he fell, and Sparrow righted himself with a shrug. "Thanks."

"One good turn deserves another," said Bill. "Thanks for the help back there."

"Can't stand to see a man go without his drink," said Sparrow with an expansive flick of his free hand. "Who are you?"

"They call me Bootstrap. Bill Turner," he said, and offered Sparrow his hand. Sparrow gave his fingers a quick perusal through narrowed eyes before taking it, and Bill found himself struggling not to laugh.

"That would be short for William, I imagine." Sparrow's critical gaze turned to his face. "You look like a William," he decided. "William it shall be. Jack Sparrow," he said, pointing to his chest with the bottle. " _Captain_ Jack Sparrow," he corrected himself, and (Bill could find no other description for Sparrow's actions at those words) preened.

"Bit young for that captain lark, aren't you, lad?" It was fair turnabout, he decided, for all the laughing and dragging, although since fairness was the true object in this meeting Bill could admit he was laughing himself at Sparrow's wide and outraged eyes.

" _Young_?" he sputtered, then seemed to subside. "You're never too young to captain a vessel, William. Never let anyone tell you otherwise." He wagged a finger in Bill's direction. "Besides, my bonny ship needs a bonny captain, and the whores do tell me that I fit the bill."

"That would be why they're called _whores_ , Jack." Bill laughed again when Sparrow sank down to the ground and threw a pebble at his feet.

"You can laugh, William, but you can't deny the truth. You'll see, when you get a look at my _Pearl_."

Bill stopped laughing and sat down on the ground. "We are to talk business? Here?"

"Wouldn't call it business," Jack said, and Bill watched him take a long draught of rum before passing over the bottle. "Even if it were, there's nowhere else I'd rather discuss it. You are looking for a ship, aye?"

Bill didn't answer and took a swig, just a small one so as not to offend his wife. A woman knew about things like rum, even if she pretended not to. "Your ship is called the _Pearl_?"

"The _Black Pearl_ ," said Jack. "Aye."

The _Black Pearl_. Bill breathed deeply and took a longer, deeper drink. His wife would just have to live with this one night of vice. "I've heard stories," he said, surprised and alarmed to hear a croak in his voice.

"Dare say you 'ave." Jack grinned. His gold teeth flashed in the darkness.

"Are they true?"

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?" Jack spread his arms wide. "Real as you and that old bastard King and everyone else on this island and the entire _world_. The _Pearl_ is not a ghost ship, William. Though," he added, his voice going low, "she's as beautiful as such spirits."

What kind of man considered spirits beautiful? Jack was a heathen, possibly. Or perhaps, Bill thought, Jack had seen more beautiful spirits than most. "She sails well?" he asked, and drank more from the rum. It was good to reacquaint himself with its burn.

Jack grew very serious. "She's like a dream, fast and sleek. She _slides_ through the water, and her sails . . . I think, sometimes, they capture the breath of gods. I don't blame you, William. Sometimes I wonder myself if she is real."

Bill smiled. "Can't believe your luck?"

Jack nodded. He looked up at the sky, and Bill let the silence drift past with the chirping of insects for company until Jack leaned forward, whispering. "Tell you a secret, mate."

"What?" Bill whispered back.

Jack tapped his nose. "I'll be needing a quartermaster for the trip to Tortuga."

"You're a pirate."

"So are you," said Jack. "I can tell."

Bill wanted to scoff. He'd been a pirate in the past, it was true, but now he was married. He had a son. He was supposed to be respectable, so his wife could tell young Will respectable tales about his respectable father. His boy would earn an honest living. He would not follow his father's true path and scratch for survival at the edges of an empire.

Jack eyed him with the wisdom of an eastern sage, but without the sobriety. "Got family, have you?"

Bill nodded, wondering if Jack had witchcraft in his veins.

"Don't worry," Jack said kindly. "'Tis not too plain. Only to those who know the signs, savvy?"

"Not really," Bill said, shaking his head. Did he have it painted across his forehead? Was it branded somewhere about his person? _Former pirate seeks honest trade. Do not tempt with rum and mystical ships._ It was a cruelty of Fate to through Jack Sparrow across his path at this time.

Jack looked taken aback for a second, and then he shrugged, declining to explain. "Do you want to see my ship?"

It was plainly an offer generously made. Bill had never heard a captain speak of his ship with such pride, and Jack was a likeable man, odd and funny and strange. It would be churlish to refuse him, and merely looking at the _Black Pearl_ wouldn't hurt.

"Aye," he said to the stars. "Why not?"

There was a moment of deep, almost solemn silence, and then Jack clapped his hands together once. The noise was loud against the soft hum of the forest. "I knew you'd say yes. Come on."

"Now?"

" _Aye_ , now," said Jack, beginning to stumble and sway and slide back down the hill, his hands and arms waving out in front of him, possibly for balance. "If you're going to be quartermaster it means we can leave this rat hole at first light and make way to Tortuga, pick up the rest of the crew and then . . . on to our prize."

"What prize?" asked Bill, quickly getting to his feet and dashing to catch Jack as he slid a little too far. Better for both of them if he followed Jack closely, lest the idiot fall flat on his painted face.

Jack tapped his nose again. "Not until you join my crew. But I can assure you," he said, pointing emphatically to a nearby tree stump, "it is an escapade of the highest order."

Bill found that easy to believe. Heaven only knew what madcap ideas ran through Jack's head. He grabbed Jack's jacket as the man threatened to walk directly into a boulder. "Can't you see straight?"

"Just keeping you on your toes, William," Jack said, pausing to straighten his hat. "On we go."

"Have much rum have you had?"

"No more rum than I have had on any other night," said Jack, "which is to say that on any other night I have had no more rum than I have had tonight. Think of this as a test, dear William." Jack's eyes flashed for a moment, and Bill got the distinct impression that Jack was not nearly as drunk as he claimed. Then it was gone, replaced by a happy haze.

"A test."

"Aye!" said Jack, pointing now to the sky. "I can't be having a second rate quartermaster on such a fine ship as the _Pearl_. It's not right, and I won't stand for it. She'll not stand for it, either, and if you are second rate quartermaster she'll be sure to let us know it."

"Your ship makes your decisions?"

Jack stopped and turned and poked Bill in the chest, a strange fire burning in his eyes. "The _Pearl_ is more than a ship."

Bill held his breath and nodded. "I believe you."

"Good. Come along, William."

They reached the edge of the town, and from there it was a short walk to the dock. It was quiet, though a few grunts could be heard in the background, wildlife noise like the crickets in England, and the occasional scream, which was a noise no English animal had ever made. There was the creaking of wood, too, as boats bobbed on the water. It was a calm night, and laughter drifted down from the fort.

Jack led the way to the rowing boats on the beach. "Property of the Royal Navy," he whispered, and pointed to two marines lying propped up against a boat, asleep and snoring loudly.

"We aren't going to steal one."

"Why not? We're pirates, unless you can point me in the direction of a more deserving target, of course. 'Tis far more satisfying to rob from the rich."

"Fine," snapped Bill. "But the price is hanging."

Jack laughed. "The _Pearl_ 's worth it. Promise," he said, and sashayed on his tiptoes across the sand to a spare boat. Bill watched him flip it over and drag it into the surf, grinding his teeth. Drink, theft and piracy, all in one night. No doubt his wife was turning in her bed. "Come on!" hissed Jack, and Bill groaned under his breath and followed him into the water.

Jack set to rowing with a willing smile, being careful not to splash too loudly until they were a good way from the shore. "Not that those two'll be waking up tonight, but just to be safe."

Bill chuckled despite himself. It was a swift judgement, to be sure, but he didn't think Jack Sparrow was at all likely to ever play safe games. He stretched back in the boat and finished off the rum. The stars seemed to shine even more brightly over the water. It wasn't true, of course, but it was a fancy to which he had always been partial, and Jack Sparrow probably agreed with it.

The _Pearl_ was anchored some way from the main harbour, almost hidden around a cliff, but Jack rowed well and it wasn't long before they arrived. The _Pearl_ rose from the water like an ocean whale, more natural than mechanical wood and nails. "She was careened recently?" Bill asked, eyeing the sleekness of her hull.

Jack shook his head. "Not since I took her, nigh twelve months ago." He reached out and stroked her. "We came far. There's none to match her," he breathed, and he kissed her.

Bill shivered and looked up at her sails; they were black and almost invisible in the darkness.

"She's beautiful," Jack whispered, reverent as a preacher before the altar.

"Beautiful," Bill echoed.

They climbed aboard, swinging up on ropes that squeaked. Bill's feet hit the deck with a light thump, and it was another fancy of his, nothing more, brought on by the tales he'd heard of the _Black Pearl_ , the ghost ship, but he would have sworn that she shimmered beneath him.

His eyes fell to the helm. It gleamed under the starlight.

"You can touch her," Jack offered graciously. "If you like."

Bill felt an abrupt pang of gratitude. He nodded his thanks and made his way to the wheel, and ran his hands all over it. The _Pearl_ creaked and swayed on the water and seemed to hum in his hands, rhythmically, like breathing. She was joyous.

"She likes you," Jack murmured in his ear, standing at his back.

"How can you tell?"

"'Tis obvious. She hasn't pitched you overboard." He smiled and put his hand on Bill's shoulder. "I like you, too. So, what say you, William Turner? Will you be our quartermaster?"

Bill fought the urge to get down on his knees and kiss the deck. The _Pearl_ was a she-devil of a ship, a temptress vessel, to have such an effect on a man trying to live honest. She would be his mistress, and if he never saw his wife again he would be entirely satisfied.

"Yes," he breathed. "But only because I like you both back."

Jack patted him with gentle hands. "I'll get rum. This deserves a celebration."

Bill watched until he disappeared below, and then his legs seemed to sag and he sat down with a thump. The _Pearl_ rustled her sails. It was a soothing noise, and he let it carry him into a daydream of he and Jack, fighting battles on the ocean and plundering for all they were worth. They couldn't fail, with the _Pearl_ on their side. It struck him that she was very like Jack, beguiling and tempting, with magic in her soul.

Jack reappeared with more rum and a compass, a little wooden thing that he passed over to Bill with reluctant hands. "Our escapade," he announced, and drank long and deep.

Bill examined it. "It's not working."

Jack frowned at him and took it back. He squinted at it for a long time, and pointed it in different directions. "Works perfectly," he said, closing it. "You mustn't have the touch," he added, grinning.

"Maybe so. But how is it related to this escapade of yours?"

"Escapade of _ours_ ," Jack corrected. "And this little beauty will steer us true. You need have no worry of that."

"How will it steer us?" Bill persisted. "It doesn't point north. You can't steer a ship with a compass that doesn't point north."

Jack looked at him, puzzlement etched on his features. "Why would we want it to point north? Forward is the direction we need to be going."

It was a point of view, certainly. Bill scowled and took the rum away from him, of the opinion that Jack had drunk quite enough for one night. It was frustrating, too, as Jack seemed so mad, and yet he was entirely too sane. Bill suspected voyaging with Jack would rapidly grow confusing, without bring a compass that didn't point north into the question. "And where will we be going?"

"To a place where there is treasure to eclipse all treasure," Jack said grandly. "Isla de Muerta, and the gold of Cortes himself."

Lord have mercy. Bill was not superstitious, but he crossed himself regardless and offered up a quick prayer. "It is cursed, Jack."

"So they say." Jack winked. "And yet they say it also about the _Pearl_."

"You don't believe in the curse."

"I believe in the things me eyes tell me," Jack said, "and they have never told me that it is possible for men to be damned by other men reaching their ghostly fingers from beyond the grave. Will you be joining us, William, or won't you?"

It was mad. It was insane. Jack would lead him into Hell itself and smile while he was doing it. It was _terrible_ , and the worst of it was, Bill had to say yes. He gulped down more rum and toasted his new captain. "Aye!" he exclaimed, and felt the blood rush to his heart as Jack tipped back his head and laughed. Impending curse or no, Bill had not felt so alive since the day he married.

"Welcome aboard the _Black Pearl_ , Mister Turner," and Jack grabbed the rum from him and drank enough to tip him back onto the deck. Bill laughed and laughed, and stretched out alongside him, giggles wracking his body.

"How do you know where it is?" he managed to ask around his gasping breaths.

Jack chuckled again, and rubbed him on the stomach. "That is for me to know, and for you to wonder upon. But it involved a princess, and a jealous lover, and heathen gods in heathen lands."

"Liar," Bill laughed, until tears ran down his face. He drank more rum and thought of his wife.

Let her tell the boy what she would.


End file.
